


The Key to Redemption

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hell, M/M, Season/Series 08 Spoilers, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, challenge/prompt fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt used for the summary was -<i> By completing the three trials, Sam becomes Gatekeeper of Hell. Choose another character and what they do about it. I especially like to see spiritual triumph, destiny, redemption, that sort of thing. How does Sam ultimately win everything and yet he is Hell's Gatekeeper? Who are his amazing allies?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Key to Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Written for _ANTICHRISTMAS GIFT EXCHANGE_ at _Sammessiah_ on LJ.

The pain that shoots up his arm is worse than before, is worse than any pain he has ever felt in his life and that is saying something because he is used to agony beyond description and he never thought anything could hurt so much.

Then suddenly it is over and there is a bright light, it makes his eyes water and he throws his arm across his face to protect it, the noise in his head like humming birds all pecking at his skull, a million bees buzzing around in his brain and then, then there is nothing.

He wakes at the gates of Hell; they are closed, tight, locked to anything getting in or out. The world around them is dark, dank with the reek of damp and decay, skulls and other unidentifiable bones lying in piles. The Earth is scorched dry, no color and all he can smell is fire.

In his hand, his dirty and swollen hand is a key. It is plain iron, heavy and grey; the symbols on it impossible to decipher. He holds it in his palm for a moment, weighs it up and down. He can see by staring at the gates that this key fits the lock, knows that if he walked over to the gates he could insert the heavy object and Hell would be open for business again.

He feels sick; the last trial nearly killed him, nearly took away his humanity. He remembers Dean’s pale and worried face, those strong callused hands that he has trusted all of his life holding him tight, Dean’s tears smearing the filth on his cheeks, Dean holding him and shouting something, begging almost as Sam faded away.

He has succeeded, that much is obvious, but to what cost? He is alone here (wherever here is) and there is no one to ask, no one to help him. Beyond the gates are demons and lost souls, beyond the gates the self-proclaimed _King of Hell_ was trapped in his own kingdom. Crowley would never again wreak havoc on humanity, demons would never again possess humans, there would be no more bargains for souls and the Earth would be peaceful without these stains on its landscape.

“You have succeeded Sam Winchester.”

A voice, low and deep, beyond his sight but thrumming through him like electricity through a wire. 

“You have sealed the gates of Hell forever and, as a reward, you get to hold the key. Only you decide if anyone can pass in or out, you are Hell’s Gatekeeper, Sam and it is a job you must do. You have been given the power, and the grace to do it.”

He turned his face to the voice and screamed; he wanted to know why, why after all he and his brother had suffered, why after all Kevin had endured to translate the tablet, why after all these decades it had come to this. He wanted normal, he wanted to go home, he wanted a family, a house, a white picket fence, some kids and a dog. He shouted until his voice turned hoarse and tears smeared down his face but there was no answer to his prayers or pleading, no face to the voice that had spoken. In the end he slumped to the ground and let the key fall where it lay.

***

The first few times he tried to escape he walked for hours over the barren landscape only to find himself back at Hell’s gates again. He tried digging holes, working with just his hands scrabbling in the dirt like an animal, the gates of Hell looming over him. Nothing worked and no one came and he got angrier and angrier as he realized that he had been screwed over by the _powers-that-be_ yet again. He stood up and threw his arms above him in rage and pain and lightning bolts flew from his fingertips, illuminated his narrow world with silver and gold. He concentrated on the earth around him, envisioned plants and grass, a stream, clean clothes. When they appeared he wasn’t surprised or particularly horrified and he spent time bathing and changing, feeling more himself but less human.

The voice spoke to him again, didn’t answer his questions, didn’t listen to his pleading, just intoned its message loud and clear, gave Sam a clear idea of what he was facing, of what he might become.

“You have powers beyond anything yellow eyes had given you,” it said. “You are no longer the human being you remember. You are Hell’s Gatekeeper and with this responsibility comes a supremacy that you must learn to use and control.”

“I can’t do this alone,” he was aware of sounding pathetic, wearied by it all, tears stinging his lashes, proving that not all his humanity had drained away.

“Then conjure up souls to help you. You are the one in charge here Sam Winchester, you can do what you want, have who you will.”

Sam swallowed; there were so many people who had passed through his life, so many he was fond of, so many he loved and would love to see again but he would not subject them to this, he would leave them to their peace, this was not the place for them.

There was also his brother and he longed to see Dean again with an ache that was unbearable. He didn’t know how long he had been here, didn’t feel hunger or tiredness, didn’t dream, didn’t even sleep much. He wondered if Dean had been searching for him, wondered if Dean had managed to move on. He hoped it was the latter, Dean deserved some happiness and he wasn’t ever going to find it with Sam. He wouldn’t wish his brother here, didn’t want Dean to see what he was becoming, didn’t want his brother to see him turn into a monster.

Instead, he conjured up Meg and Ruby; demon women who were strong and sassy, who would hold their own in this strange situation. He knew they were both long dead but it didn’t matter, he had been told he could have just who he wanted here with him, and he rejoiced when he saw them. Ruby tall and sloe eyed, her mane of hair almost obscuring her smug smile, Meg still blonde and angry, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the gates and then Sam, shaking her head as if she couldn’t really believe it.

“From boy King to Gatekeeper.” Her long nailed hands scratched through his long hair, pulled it from his face so that she could look into his eyes, “not black yet but darker,” she pronounced. “We can’t go in there,” it was a statement not a question. “And they can never come out.”

“You’re safe if that’s what you mean.” Sam knew the smile on his face wasn’t the one she was used to seeing, knew that he was growing and changing. He felt stronger, more powerful, the enormity of it thrumming through him, through his blood. He wasn’t a demon nor was he an angel but he was something else and he certainly wasn’t Sam Winchester anymore, however hard he tried to cling to what little humanity he had left.

“We are here to serve you then?” Ruby let her hands join Meg’s in his hair. “In all ways.”

Sam had no idea if he could still _feel_ like that, no idea if he wanted either of them in _that_ way but he laughed, a harsh bark, his mind going to places that it really shouldn’t.

And here they were, the three of them, a sort of unholy trinity, keeping the demons contained, imprisoned and keeping Earth safe. It wasn’t what he wanted but it was what he got and he would have to live with it – for an eternity if necessary.

****

Dean knew that Sam had been successful – they had been successful, because he tried to summon a demon and no one came. He didn’t know why he tried it, hadn’t any reason to believe but he had been drunk off his ass and desperate, desperate to see his brother again not really understanding what had happened.

Sam had gone from him in a flash of light and, at first, Dean thought he had ascended into heaven. After long and fruitless prayers to Castiel, Naomi or anyone who was listening he realized that this might not be the case. He wondered, frantically, if Sam were trapped in Purgatory or if he had been behind Hell’s gates when they had slammed shut. He had no leads and no one evil or good was answering his calls, so here he was, powerless, brother-less and so fucking drunk that he could barely think straight. Alcohol had become his best friend and his only companion and he knew, no hoped, that he would drink himself to death eventually.

It was Kevin who, ironically, saved him. 

Kevin, worn down, an orphan with no home and no real hope. The translating of the tablets had almost killed him but somehow he was a survivor and now Dean was in need of his help rather than the other way around.

There had been further translations and one of them explained that the person who completed all three trials would become the Keeper of Hell’s gates. Dean wished they had known this sooner but there was nothing he could do about that now. He knew now what Sam had become and, perhaps, where he was. 

All their lives they had spent fighting and for what? They always ended up on the wrong end of things. He had been to Hell and to Purgatory, he had lost his brother to demons, then Lucifer and now this. All their efforts had been successful but, as usual, they were without reward. Dean hadn’t cared about dying but he knew Sam wanted a normal life, a family, peace. Dean had been left alive and Sam – Sam was worse than dead. He hadn’t been able to rescue his brother from the cage and Sam had _left him to rot_ in Purgatory. There must be a way, but what was it? How could he save his brother this one final time? Could he even save him? Kevin tutted and sobered him up, cleaned him out, made him shower and eat and get fresh air.

If there was to be a rescue, if there was going to be redemption then Dean had to be in the best condition of his life and he owed it to Sam – wherever he was – to try.

****

Sam doesn’t fuck either of the demons, alluring as they appear to be. One reason is that he knows, deep down, that they are just constructs, perhaps just a little more than figments of his imagination, his power made whole. The second reason is that he doesn’t desire them and the third is that he doesn’t even know if he can feel anymore. He has power that makes his body thrum, his eyes burn and his hair stand on end but he has no idea how human he still is, unsure of his own appearance, wondering, often if he still looks like Sam.

He builds things around the gates with his mind. Green fields and wild flowers, cities of silver and gold and ironically he builds motel rooms, shabby and worn, wallpaper faded, beds lumpy and stained. He always conjures up two beds, always has a familiar black car in the parking lot. It is foolish and he knows it, his companions know it too but they never mock him, they never dare.

There is still evil in the world and there is still a need for Hell. Those inside may never be able to get out but there are still souls that have to go in. It is in these moments, when a flickering light of confusion floats down to the gates and takes human form, that Sam realizes the REAL power he is yielding. He holds the key; he can let souls in but not out. 

He has no idea as to what Hell is like now the demons are all trapped inside. He doesn’t know or care if Crowley is still alive in there, doesn’t know or care if chaos reigns. He likens himself to a warden, with his own _jail_ to look after. He lets the _prisoner_ in and they never, ever come out. This is a jail where there is no parole or time off for good behavior but he is – for all intents and purposes – keeping evil at bay and that, that is what gives him his power.

He wonders if this is punishment or redemption. Punishment for drinking demon blood, punishment for being soulless. Redemption for saving the world from the devil, punishment for letting him out in the first place. 

Ruby and Meg assist him; they keep him sane, make him laugh on occasion; remind him of past times both good and bad. Sometimes, he wants to ask Meg about Castiel, ask her if she really did care about her _unicorn_. Sometimes, he wants to take Ruby by the hand and kiss her, rip into her flesh like he used to, drink that tempting blood. He never does either, keeping his distance from them, watching them from afar. He knows they are both amused and terrified by him but he realizes that, without them, he would have nothing.

****

“So how do I get to Sam?”

Dean was sober and finally feeling better for it. He clutched the mug of black coffee in his hand and blew on it, sipping down the bitter brew. Kevin watched him with dark eyes, biting his lip as he stared first at Dean and then at the tablet. Dean wondered if there was a solution and, if there wasn’t what he could do. He missed his brother more than he had thought possible. They had been apart before but this, this felt more like forever than any of those other times. 

“I’m not sure you can,” Kevin sounded regretful. “According to lore the only ones who see Hell’s gatekeeper are those souls who have died and belong there.”

“So Hell is still letting souls in.” Dean scratched at his chin thoughtfully.

“Yeah.” Kevin stared at him. “But not out.”

Dean sighed; he no longer had a real job to do, there was hardly any evil left in the world now, the occasional restless spirit, a vampire here, a werewolf there. He had no home, no family and no real ties with this Earth. Often he had thought about putting a gun to his head and just ending it all and now, going on what Kevin had said, that didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“Do suicides still go to Hell?” Dean asked, casually, biting into the burger that he had bought with the coffee.

“I guess . . . .” Kevin looked at him with hooded eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Thanks anyway.” Dean squeezed the young boy’s shoulder and got to his feet wiping burger grease from his mouth. “Now you keep on eating healthy, okay? Get better, go to college, meet some nice girl – one your mom would have liked.” He grinned, cocky and confident, not wanting Kevin to see the turmoil inside.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Kevin said, finally.

“As if I would,” Dean replied.

****

Dean had never been a good liar but he reckoned he had Kevin convinced. Along with Garth and maybe Jody, there was no one else left in this world that he cared much about and he hoped that the _prophet_ would manage some happiness at last. Dean knew what it was like to be an orphan, knew what it was like to lose his mom and his home. Hell, Dean had lost his entire family so he understood, he truly did.

He hoped that he was right; hoped that he would go straight down. There was no _King of Hell_ to interfere and the _powers-that-be_ had given Hell a new gatekeeper who might be sympathetic to Dean’s cause. Even if he were wrong and he went to Purgatory or just faded into nothingness it didn’t much matter. He missed his brother so hard it hurt and he just couldn’t live without him any longer however dramatic it sounded. 

He cleaned and polished his baby until she shone. It hurt to leave her but he was certain she’d have a good home. He drove her to Garth’s houseboat and left her outside on the dock. No doubt either Kevin or Garth would find her and take her in. He laughed at that and patted the cold metal one last time. He wouldn’t need her where he was going (wherever that was) but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss her.

The gun was cold on his tongue and he breathed hard. He knew that it was going to hurt but he also knew the pain wouldn’t last long. He had thought about pills and whiskey but this method was quicker and more certain. He swallowed against the barrel as he clicked off the safety. There were no goodbyes to be had, everyone he had once loved was long gone and he was ready to go now. He took one last look at the blueness of the sky, the bright orange of the sun and then he put his finger on the trigger and pulled.

****

He was standing in the middle of a field, nothing but green as far as the eye could see. He squinted against unexpected brightness, his hands shaking as he ran them over his head, face and neck, all of it undamaged, no evidence that he had _done the deed_. There was a flash of lightening to the left of him and he turned to see the sky there turn black, a tall figure appearing on the horizon, huge black wings spread out behind him, arms raised, long hair blowing wild in the sudden wind. For a moment everything stood still and then the figure clapped its hands once and Dean felt his head spinning, his body tumbling into nothingness.

When he opened his eyes again he was in a motel room which seemed oddly familiar. Then he realized that it was the weird _disco_ room from way back, he remembered staying there when he and Sam were investigating the haunted painting, remembered their amusement and shock the first time they had walked in.

“Howdy, Dean.”

He whirled around to see Meg sitting on one bed, her bare feet dangling, her blonde hair fluffed around her face. She smirked at his expression and shrugged.

“Never expected to see you here,” she purred.

He couldn’t move for a moment, frozen; if Meg was here then he must be in Hell, it had worked but how had he gotten through the gates without meeting the gatekeeper. He shook his head, he had made a mistake and he was going to suffer for it.

“It’s not what you think.” Meg’s leg swung up and down, her toes pointed. “I’m just the welcoming committee. He wouldn’t send Ruby, he thought that would be too much for you.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak but stopped dead when he heard the door behind him open and close. 

“Hi Dean.”

It was his brother, Sammy, not how he remembered him after the last trial, but how he had been back when Dean had first fetched him from Stanford. Tall and gangly, hard muscle hidden under layers of clothing, brown hoodie hanging loose on his body. His cat-like eyes looked Dean up and down, the frown on his face making him look even younger, vulnerable even and Dean couldn’t quite believe it, wondering if the balance of his mind had been disturbed by the shot to his brain.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah.” His brother’s Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed. “It’s me.”

Dean glanced back at Meg who was watching them with ill-concealed amusement.

“What is this Sammy? What’s going on?”

“This is Hell’s waiting room,” Sam smiled, wryly. “This is where the souls come when they are bound for Hell. Only I can let them in, and there is no hope for them now as they will never get out.” Sam reached into the pocket of his hoodie and held out a heavy brass key. “I’m the Gatekeeper.”

“But this is the motel room in New York.” Dean wanted to rush up and hug his brother, had wanted to do it for a while now but something was holding him back. “Where we met Sarah – that haunted painting, you remember?”

“Yeah and I knew you would remember too,” Sam sounded choked now. “That’s why I made it like this, so it would be familiar to you. So that I would be familiar to you.”

“You did this.” Dean reached out a hand and his fingers twitched convulsively as they stretched out towards Sam. “You created this?”

“It’s my playground,” Sam laughed again, wry, and sad. “I do what I want . . . ,” he paused. “Why are you here, Dean? What did you do?”

“I shot myself.” There was no point in prettying it up. “I couldn’t go on up there without you. If it means an eternity in Hell then I’m ready but I had to see you again, Sammy.”

Sam made a choked off, whimpering sound and lurched forward, his arms wrapping around Dean’s shoulders, holding him too tight and too close. Dean felt the brush of silky hair across his skin, smelt the familiar scent of cinnamon, musk and something that was just Sam. Dean’s own eyes filled with tears and he buried his nose into his brother’s neck. It might be only for a moment but he had Sam in his arms again and it would be enough, enough to keep him going when he was being tortured in Hell.

****

It seems to be a long time before Sam let his brother go. Dean looked pale, his eyes damp. Sam hadn’t felt human in a long time but he felt it now with his brother in his arms. He couldn’t hate Dean for what he did, couldn’t blame him either. Despite everything that had happened they always had problems with separation and Sam felt relieved to have Dean close to him again.

Behind him Meg gave a snort and he turned his head to glare at her. She paled instantly and Sam knew she could see his _true_ form. Dean didn’t appear to notice and Sam loosened his grip so that Dean could move away from him. 

“What is it like?” Dean said, finally.

“The power is almost overwhelming. This is my world and I can do almost anything I want but I can’t leave,” Sam swallowed. “How long has it been?” He asked, unfamiliar fear biting into the back of his mind. “Since the last trial.”

“Two years,” Dean sounded as wrecked as Sam felt. “It was Kevin who figured it out, dirty little prophet genius. I thought we really would have our peaceful happy ending this time, Sammy. I’m sorry.”

Sam felt his heart sink further; it had been so long since he had been able to feel and yet the sight of his brother had left him feeling vulnerable and weak. He felt the power inside of him waver a little and he forced himself to stay calm, to stay focused, not allowing his world to shatter.

“What now?” Dean was staring at him with something akin to fear in those familiar green eyes.

Sam shuddered; he didn’t know what to say or how to make this better. He had stayed strong, he had done his job and he had done it well. With Meg and Ruby as his allies, his unholy _consorts_ , he had taken the souls that had arrived here and let them through the gates. Always when he opened the gates he heard the crying and pleading of the souls there but as well as the despair and the hopelessness he had also heard the voices of temptation. The stronger demons and those that had been in Hell for a long time, Crowley perhaps and the others like him. They had whispered in his ears, offered him everything, offered him freedom, the life he had desired, offered him Jess back again, his brother back with him. Sam had resisted the temptation, ignored what was being said to him. He knew, deep down, they could give him nothing but he couldn’t help but wonder.

 

“This is usually when I open the gate and let the new soul into Hell.” Sam didn’t even want to think about it, he couldn’t do it, not to Dean.

“Usually?” Dean rubbed his hand across his hair. “Sammy.”

“I’m not Sammy – not anymore. What you see here, the room, the motel, even Meg,” he waved his hand at the female demon who vanished as if she had never been there. “They are all constructs, Dean. I told you, I have the power to do anything.”

“That thing – the _avenging angel_ creature I saw earlier – that was you?” Dean stared at him and Sam could see hurt and confusion in his brother’s eyes, hurts and confusion that he never wanted to see again. He had done the trials so that they could both live, be happy, and have a proper, _normal_ life.

“I guess.” Sam hadn’t seen himself for – what seemed like – decades so he had no idea what his true form was but he did have an inkling that it was terrifying.

“You have to take me, Sam.” Dean swallowed and his Adam’s apple moved up and down, his mouth set in a firm line. “It’s your job.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t, and I won’t.”

“Sam – you have no idea what will happen if you don’t let me into Hell.”

“I won’t, Dean. It won’t be like before, you’ll never get out, no one could ever save you; no angels, no demons, no one.”

“Sam.”

“No, Dean. I can’t do that to you. You don’t deserve this Dean, you ARE a hero, you are my hero and you should be having the time of your life in Heaven right now not rotting in Hell.”

“And what about you Sam? You deserve more, too.”

“The things I did Dean, maybe this is my redemption, maybe by doing this I can atone for the things I’ve done.”

“You saved the world not once but twice. You did the trials and got rid of evil.  
You caged Lucifer.”

“Yeah but I let him out in the first place. I drank demon blood, I killed innocent people when I had no soul. I listened to Ruby and I turned my back on you when you were in Purgatory. If anyone needs redemption, it’s me.”

“Sam,” Dean sounded pissed. “You have to take me to Hell, it is your job.”

“I can’t.” Sam stared at his brother and wondered what the consequences of this might be. “I can’t do this Dean.”

There was a long, long silence. Then the motel _walls_ quivered, wobbled and faded away. For a moment Sam was aware that they were standing in an odd landscape, almost nothingness, dark, cloying.

“Well done, Sam Winchester,” the voice he had heard when he first found himself here came back to him loud and clear. “You have passed the final trial.”

“What?” Sam could see again, they were standing on a grassy plain, nothing but green and blue as far as the eye could see. “I passed the final trial what seems like decades ago.”

Beside him Dean moved closer and he felt his brother’s shoulder brush his own. For the first time in an age he felt _normal_ again, he was with Dean certain that wherever they went they would go together, that their fates were once again intrinsically linked.

“You think that paltry little thing you did was the last trial,” the more Sam heard the voice, the more he thought it sounded a lot like Chuck and he shook his head wondering if he had finally gone insane. “No Sam, you had to believe it was but it wasn’t. You have resisted temptation this whole time, you have fought against it even though it must have been difficult for you. You have guarded the gates of Hell and the Earth is a more peaceful place because of it and now, now you have kept an innocent soul out of hell despite the consequences, despite the risks to your own life that decision has released you.”

Sam swallowed; his body was aching now, the power ebbing away. Everything was wavering in front of his eyes, the solid form of his brother, silent but ready, the only thing that he was aware of. The key dropped from his hand with a clatter and there was pain in his head and shoulders, his eyes watering, his hair whipping around his cheeks.

“You can go now,” the _Chuck_ voice intoned. “You have saved the world,” there was distinct laughter in the voice’s tone at odds with everything else that had happened. “Both of you.”

“So we are free to go until the next time,” Sam didn’t mean to sound bitter, he wanted this so much, wanted to be free, to be normal but most of all he wanted to be redeemed, forgiven and he needed it like air.

“There will be no next time, Sam Winchester. The gospels are at an end, you have fulfilled your destiny and you are at liberty to go.”

“Am I . . . .” he swallowed and, for the first time, he felt Dean’s hand search for and take his. “Am I forgiven? Redeemed?”

“Stupid questions will only hold up your progress,” there was no mistaking the voice now and _Chuck_ sounded pissed. “Go and I hope the next time we speak it is on a better plane.”

There was a crash, a flash of light and everything went black. Sam felt himself rising rather than falling, Dean at his side and then, then there was nothing at all.

****

Sam woke up in a motel room, a real one. It was shabby and worn but there were two beds and his brother was lying on one of them, a gun in his hand. For a moment Sam panicked, thinking that they had been played once again but Dean coughed, opened his eyes and smacked his lips, his hands going to his mouth and then his head.

“Awesome,” he said, turning to Sam with a grin. “So it wasn’t a dream then?”

Sam couldn’t speak. His throat was tight and he felt wet tears tracking down his face. He got up and walked over to where Dean was lying, staring at him.

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean’s voice was thick with unshed tears and his hands were shaking as he lifted them and Sam virtually fell into them, the two of them lying one on top of the other and hugging as if their lives depended on it. They stayed like that for a long time before Dean took Sam’s face into his hands and kissed him.

Sam reared back for a moment, not disgusted, just shocked, surprised. He stared at Dean, mouth opening and Dean smiled at him.

“Hey,” Dean whispered. “It’s not like we can go to Hell for it.”

Sam laughed then and it felt as if he hadn’t laughed in decades. Dean shook his head then and pulled Sam back into his arms.

“Do you want this?” He asked, quietly.

And Sam, fully redeemed, nodded his assent.

****

The bedroom was hot and dark and Sam could only feel his brother rather than see him. Dean loomed over him, larger than life and the only thing Sam had ever really wanted. Dean was hard beneath Sam’s fingers, his muscles taut; skin softer than it had any right to be. Sam could feel his brother moving inside of him in a way that should be wrong but was as right as anything ever could be.

Afterwards they lay still and quiet; nothing to say and nowhere in particular to go, peaceful and warm, not normal exactly but as close to it as they were ever going to get. They weren’t needed anymore and it didn’t matter because they were quitting hunting for good. There was precious little left to hunt, evil had left the world and only a few restless spirits, vampires and other nocturnal creatures remained. 

Sam snuggled into Dean’s arms and wondered who was guarding Hell’s gates now. He thought it might be Ruby or maybe Meg and he pitied the souls that were sent there for there would be little sympathy from those particular demons. He thought he might feel different now he was free of guilt but all he felt was tired and more than a little relieved. It had been a long road but now the end was in sight and he was happier than he could ever recall.

They had the rest of their lives and beyond and Sam, Sam was going to make sure they spent every single second of it together.

End


End file.
